


Target Wishlist

by snarechan



Category: Penguins of Madagascar
Genre: Christmas, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 13:08:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snarechan/pseuds/snarechan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Penguins of Madagascar prepare for the holidays.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Target Wishlist

**Author's Note:**

  * For [misura](https://archiveofourown.org/users/misura/gifts).



> A gift request that involved TPoM and "jingle bells". I've never written for these guys before, but I adore the movies and television show! This was great fun to write. Edited by Keppiehed, despite being busy with their own holiday preparations.

“Alright boys, fall in!” Skipper called, his three subordinates – Private, Rico and Kowalski – assembling in a straight line and saluting at roll call. “Kowalski, report!”

“All provisions were successfully commandeered, sir!”

“Excellent,” he said, and paced back and forth in front of them, both flippers placed behind his back. “Then commence Operation Holly Jolly.”

The group split and Private opened a box containing a tabletop Christmas tree. He began assembling it in a corner.

Skipper and Rico were in charge of light placement; their leader positioned Rico like a machine gun aimed toward the ceiling. When he gave the cue, Rico regurgitated a string of colored lights that attached themselves to prepositioned hooks. But when they plugged them in, none lit.

“Every year,” Skipper muttered, wondering what had gone wrong this time. _Had one broken? Was it a communist conspiracy?_ It turned out that a blue one was missing. Skipper gave Rico a hard whack on the back to dislodge it and screwed it in, every light turning on without further problems.

Both of them high-fived up high and then down low for a mission well executed before moving on to help Private decorate the tree with an assortment of tinsel and ornaments made from empty sardine cans. Partway through the process a small explosion came from Kowalski’s lab, followed by a plume of smoke. He exited the work space, his feathers covered in more black than usual along with something else unidentifiable.

He removed his protective eyewear and shouted, “They are _completed!_ ” and presented them with gingerbread men decorated to look like military soldiers.

“By golly, those look exquisite,” Private complimented him from under a pile of silver strands. The three of them were having difficulty getting it to attach to the tree. “But that one looks like he might have a battle wound!”

A cookie in the corner appeared to already have a bite in it, as the right arm was missing. Skipper waddled over and examined it more critically, lifting it up toward the ceiling and turning it this way and that in the air.

“Poor soldier, he was lost in the line of duty,” he said, and stuffed the entire treat into his beak. “But he’ll be missed! Carry on, fellas. We need to be prepared by midnight tonight.”

“Why, Captain?” Private asked. Rico’d finally helped to free him from his shiny cocoon. At Skipper’s cue, Kowalski pulled out a console from the wall that had a lot of flashing lights and a radar at its center. On the front of it was the words ‘Unidentified Flying Slays’ in capitalized, red and green letters.

“Tonight is the night ol’ St. Nick will make his rounds, and we want to be ready for his arrival. There’s a lot riding on his deliveries!”

“Oh, did you ask Santa for something nice?”

“That’s classified, Private. Now-”

Suddenly, the machine activated and sirens began going off, the white lights shutting off and a red set coming down from the ceiling. Bewildered, all four penguins huddled around the device and watched as a few blips appeared on the screen.

“This is impossible!” Kowalski said, pushing random buttons and turning dials. “Can he be traveling early?”

“Code white and red! I repeat, code white and red! This is the real deal, guys,” Skipper shouted.

They scrambled to finish preparations. Rico regurgitated some stockings and stuck them to the walls. Private and Skipper hastily placed gifts under the tree while Kowalski tuned the television onto a network airing holiday movies. When they were finished, they hurried to their bunks.

“But won’t he realize we’re not really asleep?” Private asked, recalling all the research they had done in the past. He was promptly knocked out by Rico. The rest hid under some Christmas blankets that were made from ugly sweaters with funny looking snowmen on them.

The hatch above burst open then, bells jingling as something fell down.

“Salutations, my subjects!” King Julian greeted them, his crown decorated with antlers. He was followed by his two subjects, Mort and Maurice, who were adorned similarly, though Mort had a stuffed red nose stuck to his face.

“I’m Bambi!” Mort said, and was for the most part ignored.

“False alarm, boys,” Skipper said, sighing, and hopped out of bed. “What do you think you’re doing here, ringtail?”

“I, your king, am here to remind you that I am to receive not one, but two gifts at ex-ac-tualy…well, you tell them, Maurice.”

Maurice cleared his throat, pulled out a scroll and read, “King Julian, as ruler, is privileged to receive two gifts per subject on the morning of December twenty-fifth , at a value no lesser than Burt’s peanuts. Those who refuse are prohibited from attending his Highness’ royal Christmas party.”

All the penguins – minus Private, who remained out cold – exchanged weary glances. Rico belched up a carton of eggnog that was ninety percent alcohol proof and shook it in a way that begged to present it to the lemurs, but Skipper subtly shook his head.

“Ex-nay on the naughty,” he whispered. Louder, he addressed King Julian, “All right, you’ve said your peace, now kindly holy night out of here so we can have our calm.”

The king protested, but in the end he and his servants were forced to leave. Kowalski made sure to lock the hatch.

“Let’s try this again – with _feeling_ this time,” Skipper ordered, and they returned to their bunks to dream about sugar plums and all the tuna they could eat.

-Fin-


End file.
